


going places

by dianna44



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Canon, Self-Reflection, Vagueness whoops, and then older, not everything is right I know this it's a story, same with Yuuri, teenage Viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianna44/pseuds/dianna44
Summary: viktor remembers & yuuri helps





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk????? I'm already so in love with YOI it's kind of ridiculous??? this story is short and dumb??? not even canon-compliant whOOPS
> 
> anyway, yeah

Being told, “you’re going places” at only eleven years old never helped much with accepting failures and mistakes. At eleven years old, that was the set standard. He has to _go places_ , and he knew, that the only place acceptable now was the very, very top.

Viktor was good at getting to the top. He skated his way through small competitions in his hometown, his region, his country.

He was going places.

He had to go places.

He remembers his first time at the Junior World Championships at the age of 13, just barely old enough. He didn’t win, but he got damn close, being one of the finalists, and he got to walk away with a good reputation on his shoulders.

He remembers older girls fawning over him, and older boys being jealous of him.

He also remembers being jealous of older girls who were with older boys. He remembers going out to eat with two other figure skaters in his division, and as the girl supposedly flirted with him, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the other boy’s lips.

He only decided that the boy had very pretty lips, and left that day with a giggly smile and a heart that felt like it would burst.

The boy didn’t win. Didn’t even make it to the finals. And Viktor never saw him again.

 

 

When Viktor turned sixteen, he was pretty much set to win the Grand Prix Final. That’s what people told him, at least. That’s what his coach, Yakov Feltsman, would say to him. That’s what his friends said, even the ones in the division with him. They all told him he was going to win.

And he did.

He remembers coming to a stop, feeling the blood pump through his veins, feeling the breaths escape tirelessly, feeling his heart beating at a million beats a minute. He remembers the silence throughout the stadium before it erupted into ear-shattering applause, with all families alike and unalike gathering themselves up onto their feet to cheer on a sixteen-year-old Russian boy that was always told that he was going places.

He remembers smiling, waving, the happiness so present in his being, the nerves overcoming him, the waves of different emotions all coming in at once and never. He remembers holding his medal for the whole world to see, and smiling so wide that the cameras went wild.

He remembers rushing to the farthest bathroom to burst into tears after that. He doesn’t remember his exact feelings as to why, he doesn’t remember the thoughts coursing through his head, but he remembers crying in the stall because he still _wasn’t good enough_. He wasn’t enough, and he tried to wonder who he was trying to be good enough for, and when no answer came up, he cried harder.

He was alone.

He remembers stilling, panicked, when he heard the door open and shut with a soft click. He remembers the sound of delicate footsteps that began, then stopped upon hearing Viktor sniffle despite himself.

Viktor realized then that he hadn’t actually shut the bathroom stall door, and before he could truly do anything about that, the door was being opened, and Viktor remembers everything.

Viktor remembers the boy’s puffed out cheeks and teary eyes and dark hair and gorgeous eyes and the head tilt indicating his confusion. He remembers the boy’s mouth opening and closing and opening again upon realizing who it was. He remembers not being able to say anything, so ashamed that he was crying in a bathroom stall even though he won the World Championship at the age of sixteen.

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” is all the boy had said. He’s Japanese, which Viktor didn’t understand how he didn’t notice before, and Viktor doesn’t do anything. He remembers the boy becoming more and more confused, before realizing something important, perhaps that Viktor was crying. “Do you want a hug?”

Viktor had stared at him, sniffling. “What?” he finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse with sobbing for so long. The boy had shrugged, and wiped away his own tears.

“I don’t know. I know I came in here too because I didn’t have anyone to hug, and I didn’t want anyone to see me cry. So…if you like…want a hug or something, I can hug you,” the boy had offered.

Viktor was stumped. He’s not one to usually get stumped. Standing up straighter, Viktor fiercely wiped away his tears, and before he could actually warn the boy, he had leaned forward and hugged him.

He remembers the way the boy smelled. Like sweat and candy. He remembers the texture of his hair. Soft soft soft and so so comforting. He remembers placing his hand on the boy’s back, feeling the warmth seep from him, and he remembers the boy placing his hand on his own back, adding to the warmth even more. He remembers the boy nuzzling softly against his neck, he remembers having to lean down to fully hug him because presumably, the boy was a bit younger. He remembers thinking that hugging this boy was a better feeling than winning the National World Championship.

He remembers how hard it was to pull apart, but both of their hands continuing to drift towards the other, almost holding, but not quite, still so young.

“I’m Yuuri Katsuki,” the boy had introduced. Viktor smiled.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” he had said back.

Yuuri blushed, which Viktor had decided he liked very much. “Yeah, I know,” he had said. Viktor remembers wanting to hug him again, but this time, never let go. He remembers thinking “how strange” that he felt more towards this boy he barely even knew than the entirety of the championship.

How strange.

“Do you want to go back out there?” Yuuri had asked. “I think you can do it. I believe in you, Viktor.”

Viktor believed his words, believed his sincerity, believed it would be okay.

“I’ll see you again hopefully,” Viktor had said, blushing like a fool. What’s wrong with him? He’s not one to blush.

Yuuri nodded. “Okay.”

Viktor remembers reluctantly leaving, but leaving nonetheless. He didn’t see the boy again, but he continued to win, continued to inspire, continued to astonish.

 

 

Being told, “you’re the greatest figure skater we’ve ever seen” at only twenty-seven makes the rest of life seem quite pointless. He’s at home now. Nothing seems quite right, but he feels something for something he doesn’t even know he doesn’t even know he doesn’t even _know_. He wonders what the boy is doing. Yuuri. He thinks he saw mention of him, but he convinced himself that it wasn’t him. It probably wasn’t.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he sighs, ignoring it as he changes the station. It vibrates again.

Finally, he pulls it out, seeing the headline of one Yuuri Katsuki imitating his performance.

And then he remembers everything.

He’s on the plane before he realizes what any of it means.

**Author's Note:**

> did you like it?? if you wanna leave a comment, I mean, I won't complain :)


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